Changing the air

The complexity of the urban problem can be overwhelming. In a given neighborhood, a hundred buildings may be falling down in a thousand ways for a million different reasons. Beneath the loose bricks and rotting eaves lies more complexity: people from countless walks of life with innumerable problems and an infinite number of obstacles to solving them. Where does one begin to improve an urban community mired in poverty, despair, and dysfunction?

A version of this question was posed to me recently by an official of a city in upstate New York. Our conversation, having reached a point of exhaustion, had settled upon a mutual realization: there never will be enough government programs operating with sufficient nuance to solve the problems of the people, buildings, and neighborhoods of our cities in all their particularities. We’ve tried top-down solutions for decades, and rarely have they begotten true improvement. Top-down urbanism focuses on buildings, not on lives. It might bring about physical improvement, but it doesn’t make the residents of a neighborhood wealthier. Instead, it most often displaces them in favor of a different group of people who already are wealthier. The displaced have the same problems they had before, with the added burden of having to solve them in a different neighborhood or in an altogether different city. Third tier cities—Troy, Newburgh, Poughkeepsie, and others in the upstate come to mind—end up as depots for those dispossessed from “successful” cities. But if North Central Troy is struggling, don't worry, we tell ourselves; hang in there a while longer, until we find the money to do the same great things we did in Brooklyn.

It was in acknowledgment of such foolishness that my interlocutor asked, “What would you do in these places? How would you change things?”

It’s tricky to answer such a question. A too ambitious response suggests more top-downism, and urbanism properly works from the bottom up. So I narrowed the question further. “Let me suggest something small that might get things pointed in the right direction,” I offered. “Let me suggest something practical, that isn’t top-down or outside-in but that builds on what is already in a neighborhood. Something that will give the people there a tangible sense of hope…that might fundamentally change the air.”

My very modest suggestion is: signage. In even the most troubled neighborhoods, at least some people are engaged in useful, paying work. They babysit, cut hair, give manicures, sew clothes, make candles, plan parties, pack brown bag lunches, fabricate sheet metal, perform day labor, and engage in dozens of other activities that wouldn’t occur to someone like me trying to make a list of them. Most such activities, if not all, have no street visibility, as they take place in private homes and apartments. Proprietors earn a bit of pocket money and some carve out a subsistence income. But they rarely earn enough to fully flower. Clients are limited to those that can be found through word of mouth, or perhaps craigslist. Anyone not already in the know will pass these places of commerce without realizing they are there.

But imagine if someone making a few dollars under the radar on River Street in North Central Troy, North Miller Street in Newburgh, or even State Street in Hudson were granted the freedom to install a sign over his or her front door to advertise his or her goods or services. Imagine the opportunities for income, improvement, and self-actualization that would be created at very little expense. The changes would be modest at first. But imagine the sense of self-agency some citizens would acquire. Imagine, over time, the neighborhood sprouting a plethora of signs for independent businesses. Imagine the neighborhood becoming a place to live, instead of a place where people can only hope for something better to come along. Imagine the children growing up in the neighborhood seeing the elders be productive and self-driven. Imagine them realizing that their own future could be realized right there, instead of a far-off place somewhere on the other side of a college degree. Imagine the residents acquiring enough wealth to repair the broken stoops and rotted eaves, and to build new storefronts, and—

Oops…I forgot. Historic preservation. Pure architectural style must be preserved. Sorry about that. And so, let us give thanks on this day for those who remind us again and again that cities are places of buildings, not places of people, and that the former is more important than the latter. Not sure how I got that on wrong.

Apologies for the digression. Carry on.

Separated at birth

Left, the great urbanist Jane Jacobs, author of The Death and Life of Great 
American Cities and other books. Right, the architect Louis Kahn. 

Unfriended by a racist cop

I had a disturbing facebook conversation with two police officers (from outside the Hudson Valley) about seven weeks ago. I have pasted it below in its entirety. I was tempted as I prepared this post to provide a running commentary alongside it; perhaps I will another time. For now, the conversation is presented as it unfolded.

All the individuals participating in this discussion are white. I have masked the names of the two officers and that of a third participant to protect their identities. "Officer Pink" is was a facebook friend in Pennsylvania. I don't know where "Officer Gray" resides and works, and I was not sure when I entered the conversation that he is an officer. However, he is addressed as such by Officer Pink.

I don't believe their views are indicative of the views of a majority of white cops, or that there are more racists among white police officers than among white Americans in general. Nor do I think, as I attempted to make clear in the conversation, that the African-American man in the video should be excused for his actions. But I do believe that a startling number of white Americans, many of whom deem themselves enlightened on matters of race, do not understand why many African-Americans rightly fear the police. More generally, they do not understand that many African-Americans carry a minute-by-minute burden that white Americans do not carry. It is stunning and saddening that so many white people still don't get it.

[NOTE: During the conversation, I misunderstood Officer Pink's claim made above that her family is half minority. Officer Pink is white with, apparently, an Hispanic spouse.]

The fake New York town that became real

Before the Google Maps era, cartographers occasionally inserted fictitious place names into their maps. It was a way of protecting their copyright: if a fake street or town name inserted by a mapmaker subsequently appeared on a competitor's map, the first mapmaker had evidence its competitor had plagiarized.

The fictitious town of Agloe appears on this Google map, although some sources
report that Google removed it earlier this year in the interest of accuracy.

In the 1920s or 1930s (sources differ), the General Drafting Company created a road map of New York State. At a location deep in the Catskills, company director Otto G. Lindberg and his assistant Ernest Alpers inserted the town of Agloe, an anagram of their initials. Such lightly traveled places were ideal for locating a "paper town" or "trap street"; a ruse in a more populous area ran the risk of confusing map users and damaging the mapmaker's reputation.

A few years later, Lindberg spotted Agloe on a map published by Rand McNally. He thought he had caught the famous company red-handed. But Rand McNally, it turned out, had found Agloe in Delaware County records, which showed the Agloe General Store (described as a fishing lodge by some sources) at the spot created by Lindberg on his map. The store owner, it turned out, had taken the name from a map provided by Esso, one of General Drafting Company's clients. Thus did Lindberg's fake place become a real place.

The General Drafting Company and the Agloe General Store are now gone, but Agloe remains—in the virtual world of Google, at least. It also appears in John Green's popular young adult novel, Paper Towns, currently being turned into a motion picture.

Peak color

Back yard, Hudson, New York